


We'll Have Some Fun

by slashmania



Series: 50 Thousand Words (from October to December!) [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Cobb NOT Being An Asshole, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, damn it I will make that tag a thing!, dream injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-15 22:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21025895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmania/pseuds/slashmania
Summary: “Hey, darling,” Eames was saying over the line. “Cobb’s almost finished here, so I was thinking about getting a drink afterwards and—”Arthur was about to answer. Honestly he was. But he was struck dumb by the familiar sensation of a bullet penetrating his body. A bullet that hadn’t made a noise as it was fired. It had to be a bullet, because the blood was getting everywhere and nothing was sticking out of him, and even when Arthur pressed both hands against his abdomen and applied pressure the bleeding barely slowed.





	We'll Have Some Fun

**Author's Note:**

> I actually had a lot of fun writing this considering my first idea was roughly 'Oh no, Eames, I've been shot and you've used your ugly shirt to stop the bleeding...I know how to get the blood out of that, though, so don't worry.'
> 
> Day Five: Fortitude  
2650 words

Dreamshare could be dangerous if one didn’t plan for the unexpected. That’s what point men were for- they looked at a problem from several angles, they saved everyone’s asses.

Arthur, who usually held together the second level, was waiting patiently to hear from Eames. They'd been working together for several weeks, on this job, on others before, and had learned to at least respect each other's skills. 

But he hadn’t planned to be even a little distracted by Eames, who was flirty but brilliant, because Arthur placed the importance of the job above all else, but when he heard the crackle of the walkie on his belt, it momentarily distracted him from the sound he should of heard, but somehow didn’t.

“Hey, darling,” Eames was saying over the line. “Cobb’s almost finished here, so I was thinking about getting a drink afterwards and—”

Arthur was about to answer. Honestly he was. But he was struck dumb by the familiar sensation of a bullet penetrating his body. A bullet that hadn’t made a noise as it was fired. It had to be a bullet, because the blood was getting everywhere and nothing was sticking out of him, and even when Arthur pressed both hands against his abdomen and applied pressure the bleeding barely slowed. Arthur, so rational despite the unexplained wound, with no gunman in sight anywhere, and no angry subconscious converging upon him, did the only thing he could do.

Arthur sank to his knees, still putting pressure against the wound, but also reaching for the walkie with one hand. He picked it up, dropped it because of his blood-slick fingers, and then picked it up again, Eames still attempting to get Arthur to agree to something that sounded like a date. The thought made Arthur smile a little.

“- and I understand that this could represent some sort of conflict. Cobb maybe seems pretty into you, so please tell me if I’m crossing some kind of boundary.”

Arthur managed to press the correct button, and spoke into the walkie. “Get over here right now, Mr. Eames. I’ve been hit. Somehow.”

Then Arthur lay down on the ground because he was starting to feel a little dizzy.

* * *

Eames dragged Cobb along with him to find Arthur.

“Are you sure that Arthur said he’d been shot,” Cobb was asking again, still not believing it. “He’s so capable though. It’s almost frightening what Arthur can manage to do in a dream.”

Eames wasn’t nearly so calm. “Getting shot in the mark’s subconscious shouldn’t be a mark against Arthur’s credibility. He’s fascinating! He’s the best!”

Cobb shot Eames a look. “And I know that none of those things make him bulletproof.”

“Did I mention that I’d like to take him out for a drink when this is all over?”

“Stop rambling,” Cobb snapped at Eames, looking around the area, holding his gun in one hand and obviously clenching his totem with the other. “Besides, why in the hell are you talking to me about that? That’s your business, not mine!”

Thankfully, they’d discovered where Arthur had lay down, gun not too far from his body, but both hands pressed against his stomach. Both dream workers went to kneel at the point man’s side.

“Arthur!” Eames said, eyes tracing up and down the man’s still form. Surprisingly the only thing he could say was, “I can’t imagine what your dry cleaning bill would look like if you were often shot like this up above.”

Arthur opened his eyes a little and smiled, either unaware or not caring that the blood had stained his teeth a macabre red.

“I’m a lucky bastard, then, aren’t I?”

“Arthur, did you see who did this? Was it a projection?” Cobb looked at Arthur steadily, waiting for his answer, but still clutching his totem. Knowing what Cobb wasn’t going to put into words in front of Eames, Arthur shook his head slightly and said, “It wasn’t her, Cobb. I’d say relax, but I still don’t know how this happened.”

Eames glanced between the two and frowned.

“In my experience a wound that appears like this in the dream could be a reflection of something that has happened to your body one level up, or even up above.”

Arthur nodded his agreement. He smiled again, saying “I didn’t even hear the shot. I didn’t smell that kind of acidic scent in the air. You know what I mean? It’s a little like ammonia and something else. Unless you’ve been firing non-modern weapons, then that stuff smells more like sulfur.”

Eames shared a look with Cobb, saying under his breath. “He seems fairly calm for someone who’s been shot in the stomach, Cobb.”

“He might have to stay here for a little longer,” Cobb warned Eames. “I may have found everything I needed in that safe, but you need to reappear for the mark once more, just to seal the deal.”

Eames frowned over the thought, looking down at Arthur who still seemed calm, even after hearing what Cobb had to say. “I’d say fuck that plan,” Eames spat. “He saw his little lost princess; he ended up giving us what we wanted. It’s done.”

But even Arthur shook his head. “No. Trust Cobb on this one. We’ve got time on the clock still. I can hold out a little longer so we can figure out where my injury originated and give the mark a happy reunion to end the dream.”

“Okay, Arthur,” Cobb said. “Stay here while I go to check on your body both on the first level and up above. If you’re hurt on the first level, and the architect watching over you reports that nothing physically happened to you, I’ll go back to reality and check on you there.”

As he was talking, Cobb began taking off his coat and folding it. He carefully placed it beneath Arthur’s head.

“And if the chemist hasn’t already tried to give me first aid, you’ll take me to the hospital.” Arthur smiled again and looked down at where his hands were currently busy applying pressure to his wound. “I’d pat you on the arm or something, but I guess I’ll just have to stick to using words and stuff. You’re a good best friend, Cobb.”

This made Cobb laugh for a second, and he stood over Arthur’s body and said, “You’re such a liar, Arthur. I’m an awful friend; we both know that she was so much better at this than me.”

Arthur shrugged a tiny bit. “You said it, not me.”

Eames remained kneeling at Arthur’s side and began to give him a briefing on what had happened.

“Extraction went well,” Eames said as he began unbuttoning his ugly paisley shirt, revealing the white undershirt he wore beneath. “I distracted the mark by running around as his long lost daughter, Lizzie, got him to give up some choice bits of information that will serve as padding for whatever else Cobb got out of that safe.”

“Ideally the thing we were hired to steal,” Arthur commented, eyebrow raised.

“Hey, who knows what else Cobb picks over in his rush to get out before the timer runs out?”

“The world famous snickerdoodle recipe passed down for generations.”

“The coordinates to the undersea treasure!”

Eames began folding his shirt into a thick pad of material. When he was satisfied with his work, he nodded and tapped the back of one of Arthur’s blood-stained hands.

“Okay, lift these off, and I’ll press down on this.”

Arthur did so, not arguing at all.

Eames got the folded shirt on top of Arthur’s still bleeding wound, and then pressed down, apologizing as he did so.

And Arthur just lay there with his eyes closed.

“Are you sure that I’m not hurting you?” Eames asked with concern.

Arthur grimaced but said, “I once saw this terrible shirt that had the quote ‘Pain is weakness leaving the body’ printed on it.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Arthur.”

“It wasn’t meant to. I mostly feel bad for ruining your shirt, I can tell you exactly how to take the blood stains out. Now I’m just making conversation to distract myself.”

Eames became worried and tried not to press down quite so hard, thinking that Arthur must be trying to not think of the pain and was _obviously_ trying to not worry Eames about it. The keyword being _trying_.

“Really, darling? What would you like to talk about now?”

Arthur took a breath and said, “I believe you were trying to invite me out for a drink earlier?”

Eames was startled into laughter, Arthur first trying to laugh along with him, but actually groaning in pain. “Okay, okay, that was a bad idea,” Arthur panted. “I shouldn’t have laughed along with you! I should have just said something else.”

“Like what?”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything about it, but my god, you smell great.”

Eames was silent for a moment as he processed this.

“I would have also said something up above because you smell just as great up there, but that’s not really something you expect your point man to say. Or that’s not something I’d usually say to anyone I work with, except maybe that one time that Cobb accidentally went to work smelling like his wife’s perfume.”

Eames raised his eyebrows, interested in this tidbit of information. “Cobb’s married?”

Arthur’s smile slipped a little bit. “Cobb was married. She passed away not too long ago.”

Hoping to distract Arthur from the sad thought, Eames asked, “But what did you say to Cobb when he came in wearing his wife’s perfume?”

“I said, ‘Doesn’t someone smell enchanting today?’ and Cobb squinted in that way he usually does, and sort of sniffed at his jacket in confusion.” Arthur smile was fond. “She must have been getting ready for the day and seen him off after just putting some of it on. Or one of their children could have been playing and sprayed Cobb’s clothes with the perfume while he was busy in the shower.”

Then Arthur cleared his throat and said, "So, yeah, Cobb isn't into me or anything. We're friends and we work together." Arthur didn't try to laugh again, but he did smile a little. "What's the phrase supposed to be? Am I supposed to be single and ready to mingle?"

Eames would have said something flirty. He would have said something about also being ready to mingle, about really really wanting to take Arthur out for that drink, and maybe dinner, or something. He really just wanted to spend more time getting to know this Arthur who wasn't so prickly or frowning or focused on getting the job done. Eames liked all those things about Arthur, but he also liked this softer side of Arthur but would like to experience it more in a setting that didn't involve Arthur being wounded.

"How about this, Arthur? We'll mingle after we get you out of this dream. I'll take you out and we'll have some fun."

Eames was trying not to bring up the chance that the wound Arthur had was something much worse up in reality. That someone walked into the site they'd secured for the extraction and shot Arthur, even if the chemist had said they'd stand watch over all of them. Maybe they were in on it. Maybe the whole team had been sold out.

Eames felt Arthur tug on his arm.

"Hey," Arthur said. "Relax. Don't over think this."

So instead of thinking of what might have happened up above, Eames continued to hold his folded up shirt against Arthur's stomach.

"You're the very definition of fortitude, aren't you?"

* * *

"Lizzie!"

Arthur, who had been drowsing from the blood loss and pain that he didn't want Eames to see, suddenly startled into awareness. He grit his teeth and hissed, "_Eames__!"_

There was still pressure on Arthur's stomach, but when Arthur looked up, he didn't see Eames at all.

There was a little girl, maybe only six or seven, kneeling at Arthur's side and pressing a heavily stained shirt against his stomach. Arthur recognized the girl- he'd discovered the pictures of her, he'd dug up the whole story about her death, and plotted to exploit the mark's troubles dealing with her loss.

Lizzie made direct eye contact with him and for just a second her green eyes flickered gray before returning to normal. "Just stay calm and I'll handle this," Lizzie said to Arthur. Arthur nodded shallowly.

The mark raced over to them and spared Arthur a glance before devoting all of his attention to Lizzie.

"Lizzie, I've been looking everywhere for you! Where did you go? And what are you doing with this man?"

"Daddy, he needs help," Lizzie pleaded, continuing to press her hands down on Arthur's wound. "Can't we help him?"

The mark, an older man who had secrets worth millions to the right buyer, was on the verge of offering up any information so long as his daughter asked.

"I don't think it'll work, baby. He needs a doctor..._you _needed a doctor. I'm so sorry!"

And even though he thought Arthur was a lost cause, he tried to help his daughter stop the bleeding.

"That wasn't your fault, Daddy. I'm better now, I'm okay. But he isn't. We've gotta save him."

Arthur had been fighting the pain, he'd really been trying to not show it, but it was all getting to be too much.

The timer should have run out by now. Should have. Something must have shown on his face, Arthur was sure of it, because Lizzie nodded to him. She nodded and smiled, and Arthur couldn't recall what color her eyes were supposed to be, and his vision was getting blurry enough that he couldn't quite tell.

Either he was dying here or he was going to wake up. He was hoping that he was going to wake, he really did hope that. He was going to wake and be well, and fuck it, he was going to go on a date with Eames when Eames wasn't forging a little dead girl!

...and that was a truly fucked up thought. But then Arthur was waking.

* * *

Arthur woke up choking and pressing his hands against his stomach, feeling the phantom pains of the injury fading as he took deep breaths. Cobb was at Arthur's right side, Eames was on his left, and the chemist was busy seeing to the mark who appeared to be sleeping naturally, unharmed.

The architect was uninterested in either group.

Arthur realized that his shirt had been unbuttoned, and he felt around his chest and stomach, searching for the wound that he'd suffered down in the dream.

"What in the fuck happened?"

Cobb was frowning. "I talked about it with the chemist. It's a possible side-effect of this mix of Somnacin."

"One that I wouldn't have experienced when I was doing the tests for it?"

Eames sighed, "The chemist was kicking around a few theories about it."

The chemist looked up from the still sleeping mark and said, "I'd personally like it to be Exploding Head Syndrome!"

Arthur started at her, and then looked back at Eames and Cobb. "But what do we know that happened for sure?"

"A car backfired. It could be just as simple as something from outside affecting how you interpreted the dream. It would make sense considering you heard the shot, but couldn't find a gunman."

"And when I went up to the first level to check on you, there wasn't a wound." Cobb shrugged and then smiled reassuringly. "I'm still your best friend even if I don't have to take you to the hospital!"

Arthur smiled. "That's right, Cobb. Thank you for looking out for me."

But Arthur looked at Eames and his smile widened a bit. "I believe you've promised to take me out?"


End file.
